


Will You Lie With Me?

by brightbulbs



Series: High School AU [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Depression, Homelessness, M/M, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightbulbs/pseuds/brightbulbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part II of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4149228">If I Just Lay Here</a> </p><p>Mickey's homeless and spends the night with Ian, after he literally pulls him out of a snowbank at his high school's semi-formal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will You Lie With Me?

**Author's Note:**

> You should probably read [If I Just Lay Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4149228) before reading this, or else it might be a little confusing. Not sure if I'll add more to this in the future or not, so I'm filing it away as part of a High School AU series.

“Stop right here.”

Ian hears it, but it takes him a moment to register it. Mickey taps Ian’s shoulder, snapping him out of his momentary daze and Ian whispers an “oh,” pulling to the side of the road. He puts on the brake, leaving the engine running to keep the car warm.

“I live up here,” Mickey says pointing to the house at the end of the block, “uh, used to,” he corrects.

“Oh, then let me pull up,” Ian moves to shift the car into drive, when Mickey rests his hand atop Ian’s to stop him.

“No, here’s fine.”

Ian watches Mickey walk towards the old house, brows furrowing as Mickey takes a short u-turn right before the edge of the porch, avoiding the front door altogether.  Peering out as best as he can, Ian sees Mickey knock against a window. Moments later, it opens up and Mickey is handing over cash to what Ian thinks is his sister. It is. He remembers her long dark hair, and the colorful streaks she liked to put in it. 

They talk, but Ian can’t make out what they’re saying. Mickey nods, and his sister punches his shoulder gently. She leaves for a minute, and Mickey stands idly by. When she comes back, she’s handing him a backpack. They say their goodbyes, and Mickey walks back to the car swiftly, flipping his sister off as she shuts the window.

Mickey opens the car door and slips back into his seat, tossing his backpack in the back of the car. “Ready,” he says, and Ian pulls away from the curb.

“Y’know I don’t live far from here?” Ian says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ian says. “I could walk to your house in like, two minutes.”

“Not really my house,” Mickey sighs forlornly looking out the passenger side window as they drive by lit lampposts, uneven sidewalks, and wild growing hedges in the dead of night. His arms are folded around himself, holding onto the warmth in them.

“Sorry,” Ian blushes, guilt sinking into his skin. His face suddenly feels uncomfortably hot. Embarrassed, really. Excelling at small talk has never been his strong suit. He wants to look at Mickey’s face, to see the judgment written there. This was a mistake. Maybe, he should just -- 

“S’okay,” Mickey says quietly, and Ian chances a glance over at him. He doesn’t seem fazed, and Ian feels a bit relieved at that.  A bit. He still doesn’t know what he’s doing. Why Mickey is in his car. What he expects out of any of this.

Ian is so lost in conversation with himself that he almost misses his house. The car jerks to a stop, pulling them both forward against their seat belts. “Sorry,” Ian stammers again, “Here, let me—” He reaches over Mickey’s seat, his arm coming across Mickey’s chest, and he pushes on the door handle firmly, “it gets stuck sometimes.”

Mickey nods, lips twitching into a half smile, unbuckling himself and grabbing his things from the back seat. He sighs, and the condensation from his breath forms puffs of white clouds in front of him once again. A shiver runs down his spine, as he hoists his bag onto his shoulder, standing idle so that Ian can lead the way up the front porch steps of his home.

They both stand shaking at the front door as Ian fishes out his keys. Finally unlocking the door, he turns the doorknob softly and slowly. The lights are out, and everyone is asleep, so he tries to be as quiet as possible upon entering his house. He turns to Mickey, and points to the staircase, “I’m up there.”

Mickey nods again, and they head up, trying not to make the floor boards creak underneath their feet. At the top of the stairs, Mickey slips off his shoes and carries them in his free hand as they pad down the small hallway. When they get to Ian’s bedroom, Mickey sets his things down with a sigh of relief, massaging his shoulder. He takes it upon himself to sit on Ian’s bed, taking in his surroundings while Ian quietly sorts through some drawers.

A small boy is tucked into a toddler sized bed in one corner, and he sees a leg hanging off of a lofted bed in the other. The blankets underneath his fingers are soft and comfortable. He loses himself in how they feel, and wills himself not to pass out right then and there. Ian tosses a stack of clothes down beside him, “Here.”

Mickey whispers a “thanks,” and begins stripping his coat off. His wet shirt is halfway up his chest when another shiver runs up his spine. His chin quivers, and there’s a sharp inhale. Ian begins to strip out of his own wet formal wear, and gasps when the cool air hits his skin.

“Shit.”

He looks over at Mickey who looks more worn and small sitting on his bed. He’s curled in on himself, bracing for the cold as he pulls his shirt over his head. He looks cold too. He feels cold, Ian realizes when he has the strongest urge to hold his hands. To rub all the warmth he can muster back into them. He forgets who he is. He forgets where they are. He grabs Mickey’s shirt from Mickey’s hands, trying to sheepishly cover up his mistake.

Except, Mickey doesn’t pull away when Ian’s hands linger too long.

“You’re freezing,” Ian whispers, “you can use the shower to warm up.”

“You should join me,” Mickey blurts out. If he were more awake, he’d probably hit himself for it, but he’s too tired to care at this point.

“What,” Ian says after an awkward pause passes between them, but Mickey just blinks silently.

“Umm, okay…”

 “You’re cold too,” Mickey supplies, “…or did you totally forget about the dramatic snowbank incident.”

“Ah, right. It’s okay. I can just shower in the morning,” Ian watches Mickey’s face closely, and Mickey just blinks again, “or, yeah… we could just share.”  

Mickey drops his pants shamelessly onto the bathroom floor, with Ian shortly behind him. He takes it upon himself to turn on the shower head, reaching his hand out to test the water before jumping in. Ian, so used to hopping into the shower as soon as the water starts pouring out, forces himself to stay put until Mickey’s climbing over the edge of the tub.

Ian climbs in behind him, stripping off the rest of his wet clothing, and Mickey moans under the spray of the warm water, tipping his head back. The curve of his back. His naked ass. The way his hands comb through his wet hair. Any other day, Ian would find himself growing hard at the sight of someone like Mickey naked right in front of him.

…but it’s not right. They’re tired. They’re cold. And this? This is just an intersection of needs. Mickey needs a warm place to stay. Ian needs a warm person to stay. And Ian tells himself, he won’t feel any regret when he wraps his arms around Mickey’s shoulders. When his eyes close, and his tears fall silently, hidden by the stream of water from the shower head. And Mickey tells himself, he won’t feel any regret when he leaves in the morning. When he slips out of Ian’s bed, and leaves without a trace making Ian question whether or not he was real.

They both need to forget for a little while, and sleep.

They slip on sweatpants and sweatshirts. They slip into bed, Mickey passing out curled into Ian’s side as soon as his head hits the pillow. They slip up, just for tonight, because this is not what either of them do. Mickey’s breath is hot against Ian’s neck, his nose tucked behind Ian's ear. Breathe in. Ian turns to face him. Breathe out. Ian wraps an arm around his waist. Breathe in. Ian’s tired but wide awake. Breathe out. He stares at Mickey’s sleeping face. Thinking too much. Not thinking enough. Willing himself to shut everything else down, and just exist here, paused at this moment in time. He closes his eyes, and everything fades.  

Mickey wakes to a little boy pulling on his sleeve. His eyebrows twitch back to life, and he yawns. “Hmn?”

The boy tugs at his sleeve again, and Mickey turns himself around to face him. There’s a weight on his belly, and it takes Mickey a moment to realize it’s someone’s arm. Right. Ian. This is his place. This boy is his, brother? Yeah. He rubs the palm of his hands into his eyes, and looks back at the big brown eyes staring at him. “What s’matter?”

The little boy shifts back and forth on his feet.

“Bathroom?”

He nods.

Mickey sighs, lifting Ian’s arm gently off of him and in the process, Ian flops onto his back still fast sleep. He swings his legs over the bed, and opens the bedroom door for the little boy, leading him to the bathroom. The little boy whispers a polite “thank you” with a cheery grin and Mickey smiles his signature half smile.

Mickey stretches his arms, before beginning to gather his things. He’s gotta get out of here. He shoves his still wet clothes into his bag. He’ll find a way to return Ian’s clothes to him later, because he can't walk around in the clothes he came with considering how cold it still was outside. He'll leave ‘em on the doorstep or something the next time he's in the neighborhood. Mickey’s putting his jacket on when the little boy returns to the bedroom.

“You leaving?” He asks innocently.  

Mickey hoists his bag onto his shoulder, “Umm, yeah.”

“Hold on,” the little boy says padding over to a set of plastic drawers right next to his bed, and Mickey follows his command, standing awkwardly still in the middle of the bedroom. He pulls out a piece of paper and a crayon from the bottom.

“Can you draw me pi’ ture,” he says, holding out the piece of paper to Mickey. “He’s sad,” he motions to Ian sleeping soundlessly on the bed still, “wanna draw him pi’ ture, but I can’t draw,” the little boy shrugs.

Mickey drops his bag on the floor, and grabs the paper and crayon. “Okay,” he says, and the little boy thanks him, crawling back into his own bed to go back to sleep.

When Ian wakes, Mickey is long gone. He lifts his head, and feels the space beside him. Empty. He flops back down, and rubs his eyes with his fingers, before starring at the ceiling. He could lay like that for hours. He could, if it meant hurting less, but his eyes scan around his room only to fall on a piece of folded paper on his nightstand. “For Ian” is scrawled on the top.

Ian sits up quickly, takes the paper and unfolds it. Cartoonish drawings litter the page detailing the night before in purple crayon. An ungrateful ex with a mean face. His face is actually scribbled over. A car. His car. Warm clothes. A bath. A bed, with two blob looking people cuddled together like puzzle pieces on it. And below it all…

“ _Thanks for the warmth, see ya around :P – M.M._ ”

Ian leans back against his pillow and holds the paper against his chest. Tears fall silently down his face, and he shakes. He shakes hard. He laughs. He buries his face into the paper, and he laughs, and he thinks that it hurts still. That he wants so much. To be so much, when he feels like he’s nothing.

…but this was something real and tangible, and maybe he’s not as alone as he thinks and maybe it’s okay to feel even when it hurts.


End file.
